The recent arrest and reported abduction-style detention of former Lord Mayor of Kampala Erias Lukwago has stirred painful memories for many Ugandans. For some, it is not merely a political event involving a prominent Opposition figure. It is a reminder of a dark chapter in our nation’s history-a history marked by disappearances, fear, and the silencing of dissenting voices.
Erias Lukwago has, for many years, been one of Uganda’s most visible defenders of constitutionalism, the rule of law, and civil liberties. Whether one agrees with his politics or not, his place in Uganda’s public life is undeniable. The circumstances surrounding his abduction have reignited concerns among citizens who remember similar scenes from earlier decades when individuals were taken away by security operatives, often never to be seen again.
The name that immediately comes to mind is that of Uganda’s first African Chief Justice and former prime minister Benedicto Kiwanuka. In 1972, during the brutal reign of Idi Amin, Kiwanuka was abducted from his chambers at the High Court in Kampala. He was taken away by armed men and never returned. To this day, his remains have never been officially recovered, and he has no known burial site. His disappearance remains one of the most haunting symbols of State repression in Uganda’s history.
For those of us who were born during Idi Amin’s rule, these memories are not distant historical events. They are part of our childhood. We grew up hearing stories whispered in homes, stories of fathers, brothers, uncles, and neighbours who left one morning and never came back. We lived through the turbulent years that followed, including the wars and political instability of the late 1970s and early 1980s. We became men and women under President Museveni’s government, believing that those dark days belonged to the past. Yet recent events have reopened old wounds.
I remember one man. His name was Ssebude, a veterinary officer and a friend of my uncle. He lived in Sekiwunga Village near Kitende, off Entebbe Road. One morning, as he prepared to leave for work, military men reportedly arrived and took him away. Like many others during that era, he was never seen again. What remains vivid in my memory is his daughter. She would often tell us, with the innocence and sadness of a child, that soldiers had taken her father away. Years later, I came across an account written by a survivor of the Makindye military detention centre. In that account, the author described a prisoner named Ssebude who was taken from fellow inmates one night after being informed that he was going to be killed. According to the account, he said his final goodbyes before being led away. He never returned. These are the memories that many older Ugandans carry with them.
Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of some modern arrests is not only the way people are taken into custody, but the public display that sometimes follows. In the age of social media, images of detained individuals can quickly circulate online, accompanied by ridicule and political mockery. This adds humiliation to an already painful experience and deepens divisions within society.
Uganda has travelled a long road since the days of Amin and the conflicts that followed. Significant achievements have been made in restoring stability and rebuilding institutions. Yet history teaches us that peace is sustained not only by security but by tolerance, accountability, and respect for differing political views. After four decades in power, the current leadership faces an important responsibility. Political opposition should not be viewed as an enemy of the State. It is a legitimate part of democratic life. The answer to disagreement cannot be intimidation, fear, or actions that remind citizens of periods they hoped never to relive.
For those of us who were children during Uganda’s darkest years, recent events have brought back sleepless nights and unsettling memories. We remember the fear that gripped our communities. We remember the uncertainty of not knowing who would disappear next. Most importantly, we remember the cost that political intolerance imposed on ordinary families. Uganda deserves better. Our children deserve better. The lessons of our history should guide us away from fear and toward greater respect for human rights, due process, and political pluralism. If we fail to learn from that history, we risk allowing old ghosts to return and haunt another generation.